February 2014

February 28, 2014

Svadhyaya is a word in Sanskrit that translates to self-study or self-exploration. It is part of the Eight Limbs of Yoga, which act as kind of a moral, ethical and physical prescription for living a meaningful life. That's the Cliffs-notes version. Svadhyaya is one of the Niyamas, which means observances, and it's also the name I gave to one of the embryos I transferred last year.

I was doing a lot of yoga around the time I was going through IVF with my sister as an egg donor, so it just seemed right to give my little embryos Sanskrit names. We transferred three embryos, Svadhyaya (self-study), Santosha (contentment), and Ishvara Pranidhana (surrender). But none of them made it. All I had left were these hard to pronounce words and their meanings, which were nearly impossible to live by at that moment. (Contentment? Yeah right.)

It's been almost six months since that IVF cycle, so I have some space to reflect now. Last night I was reading a book, by a fabulous therapist in New York, Helen Adrienne, who specializes in infertility counseling, mind-body work, and hypnotherapy. (If you live in NY you should check her out, she also does mind-body stress reduction groups for infertility). Anyway, I was reading a chapter in her book On Fertile Ground and came across this passage:

"...Since the unmet longing for a child upsets the psychological balance of who we are, personality traits become exaggerated as we scramble to cope with the uncertainty of infertility. At the same time that infertility disrupts the status quo, there is an opportunity to get a grip on how to be a better you."

This resonated with me. My personality (the good, bad, and the ugly) has ABSOLUTELY been exaggerated since I took up residency on IF Island. Feelings in general often get super-sized. But with all the intensity that comes with living with infertility, also comes this opportunity to get to know ourselves. It's an opportunity to learn to sit with what is, as it is, and to examine how we think and how we make sense of a situation that often makes no sense. It's an opportunity to become more patient and more loving towards ourselves and others. It's an opportunity to learn ways to cope with challenges that are out of our control. It's a true opportunity for Svadhyaya, which will make us better people, better significant others, better children, better siblings, and eventually better parents.

None of us on IF Island asked for these "opportunities," and many of us would much rather have some other "opportunities." But being in this for as long as I have, I can see how my experience thus far has changed me--in many ways for the better.

Part of my self-study was recognizing how much fear I had. Fear that each new procedure wouldn't work, fear that we would lose tens of thousands of dollars, fear that the process was going to be painful. All those things happened, and I'm still standing. So I'm not afraid anymore. I don't fear that I'll never be a mother, because I will. I just don't yet know exactly how or when.

There will be different (hopefully more exciting) "opportunities" for all of us in the future. But for now, we can try to explore the ones we have right in front of us. Chances are they will help us become better in some way.

February 25, 2014

For many of us Type A gals, living on IF Island can be especially confusing because we are used to working hard for something, and then achieving our goals. Well....it ain't like that here. On IF Island it's like going on a strict diet, working out for five hours a day, and gaining ten pounds. I mean...really? The input/output balance is way off, which makes an unsuccessful outcome all the more shocking.

I was baffled when our first IVF cycle resulted in a few messy embryos circling the drain. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that we had done all the meds and appointments and procedures only to have nothing to transfer back in. How can that be? Time+Effort+Money+Doing everything the doctor said= 0? Z.E.R.O.?

Sometimes yes. And the longer you're in this world where you're simply multiplying the front end of the equation by 2, then 4 then 6, but still getting the same result, the less shocked you may be, but the more disheartened. Under all the unfairness and frustration and anger is just sad. Plain old sad.

I have found two things very important when it comes to surviving this unjust equation that is part of many of our lives right now.

1) Believe that one day it will be possible for there to be something other than zero to the right of that equal sign. If you don't decide to live childless, and you are open to the various ways a family can be created, then eventually that zero will be gone.

2) Create tangible goals. We all need to feel a sense of accomplishment, a reminder that working hard does have a pay off sometimes. Redesign a room in your house, take up a craft like pottery, or make something tactile like a quilt or a photo album of your last awesome vacation before baby-making sucked up all the disposable income. Take up a something physical, like yoga or swimming, or hike to the top of a mountain on a beautiful day. Or do what I do ALL THE TIME-- I bake. There is something really satisfying about creating something delicious from nothing.

Noah has taken up eating my baked goods and rock climbing. He took this picture at Joshua Tree last weekend:

I feel like I've created a somewhat bizarre list of attainable goals here, but you catch my drift. I swear I'm not quilting while shoving cookies in my face. I don't know how to quilt.

We all need to be able to connect to our creativity, and it helps to have something we can actually show (or eat) for our efforts. I like my goals to involve getting sweaty or getting messy and definitely having something I can hold or chew. It can take our minds to a different place and allows us to experience the creative process and the fruits of our labor.

If anyone has more interesting examples of their creative endeavors or their tangible goals please feel free to share and help round out my super weird list :)

I'm including a recipe for these gluten free oatmeal coconut chocolate chip cookies I made last night for anyone who wants a very easy and delicious tangible goal:

Mix DRY ingredients in a bowl:

1 1/4 cup quick oats

1 1/4 cup almond meal or flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

a dash of salt

Mix WET ingredients in another bowl:

3/4 cup of melted coconut oil

1/2 cup brown sugar

1 egg

2 teaspoons vanilla

2 teaspoons milk

ADD DRY TO WET, THEN ADD:

1 cup shredded coconut (I used unsweetened) and as many chocolate chips as your heart desires.

February 23, 2014

Today I'm planning on hanging out with a friend who just had a baby. I like what someone recently commented about like attracting like, and making a point to surround herself with what she longed for--babies. Some times I can do that, and it feels great. Last week, another friend of mine came to visit with her new baby, and Noah and I had a fabulous time playing and giggling with him. But sometimes I just want to avoid it--all of it. Sometimes it brings up such strong feelings of...unfairness, it's hard to take a deep breath. This duality is why it is also so hard for other people to know where we're at, and it's what contributes to feeling left out and isolated. Many of us are in such a hard spot socially, and it's nobody's fault. It's just a crappy situation.

I was trying to think about how I can separate myself and our situation from others good fortune in a way that will allow me to not feel twinges of anger or resentment. Negativity doesn't serve anybody, and yet it's natural to have these thoughts and feelings.

I started thinking that some of this comes down to the idea of being deserving. Not in the sense that others don't deserve to get pregnant and be parents (though I can name a few people that could easily fit into this category), but that we who have been suffering, who have been working SO hard and putting SO much time and effort and emotion and money into trying to make a baby, deserve one too. So when someone announces they got pregnant "again," or "by accident," it's sometimes hard for us on IF Island to share in the joy. It's not that only people who suffer deserve a baby, it just reminds us of how long and hard our journey has been, and brings up the fear of not knowing when and how it is going to end. We do deserve to have something work for us too. Life just doesn't always work that way.

Noah and I were talking about this yesterday as we rode bikes along the beach. We came up with the analogy that being on IF Island is sometimes like being a dog who has just gotten fixed and has to wear one of those sad white cones over his head so that he doesn't gnaw at his wound and break open his stitches. He needs that barrier to allow himself to heal. When Noah and I are in our little safety zone together, when we have tunnel vision and can just live our lives with a little bit of a boundary between us and the fertile world, I feel like we can heal a little faster. It gets harder when our cone barrier gets permeated and we are reminded of how long and terrible our struggle has been. But we can't live like that, in a cone. At least not all the time.

I find that if I can consciously protect myself and make a choice not to re-open a healing wound, then I have more power and I can participate more in feeling acceptance or joy with other people or for other people. If I can separate what we are going through from others, then I can remember that I love babies and do want to be a part of new ones coming into the world. If I can be more aware of all the things I have in my life that I can feel grateful for, then I can remember I am a very lucky person in a lot of ways. It can be hard, and is not always possible. Sometime we have to go out and buy a super sturdy steel cone with chains and locks and blinders. I understand. Sometimes protecting your heart is all that matters. But perhaps we can also try to focus on healing regardless of what triggers the outside world throws at us. Perhaps we can learn to be more comfortable with the uncertainty of when this difficult process will end by constantly reminding ourselves that it will. Eventually. Perhaps we can fully accept that our path to parenthood is a bit more complicated than others, and that there will be lessons learned that will serve us in some way.

February 20, 2014

There is so much that can trigger an emotional breakdown on IF Island. There are obvious triggers: another baby announcement, listening to a prego complain, or even the sight of a stroller. And there are not so obvious triggers: a certain song, the "lucky" socks you wore the day of your embryo transfer that turned out to be not so lucky, or a gray day. Sometimes little or unexpected things can throw you into a tizzy when you least expect it.

And it sucks.

I've been doing really well lately. With an embryo donation on the horizon and a determination to keep trying the old fashioned way, I've been able to be hopeful yet realistic. But sometimes something will happen that sends me into a downward spiral and brings out all the frustration and resentment that has accumulated over the past few years. Sometimes I don't even realize I've been triggered until I'm in tears and spewing nonsense to Noah, or laying in bed agonizing over all my fears about the next process.

This week I identified that one of my triggers is when someone says, "how exciting!" when they learn about the next step of our process. I know there is love and support and well intention behind that statement, but it makes me want to gouge my own eyes out and scream, "EXCITING?! There is nothing about ANY of this that is exciting!!! Waiting another several months, then going on an insane drug that gives me migraines and makes my brain and my reproductive system shut down so that we can spend another $10k and fly to another state to have some couple's left over embryo jammed into my uterus for a chance at making a baby is not exciting!" But I don't. I nod and smile and realize that I am hyper-sensitive to language and I try to let it go. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. But being aware that this phrase is one of my triggers helps to deactivate its potency. If I know a button is getting pressed, my rational self is more likely to be able to intervene with my emotional self to keep the situation under control.

Sometimes triggers can be totally unrelated to infertility. Sometimes when you're just coming off of a disappointing cycle and the left over hormones are brewing a nasty stew in your blood and you're exhausted and fed up and confused and sad and angry and broke, something small, like spilling beet juice on a fresh white T-shirt or something super annoying, like waking up to a completely broken refrigerator, (yeah, both those things happened to me this week) can set of an emotional explosion. (I did keep my cool but it was SUPER annoying!) Because many of us are operating from a more intense baseline of stress and anxiety, we may be more susceptible to being thrown off balance. For many of us on IF Island, it's as if there are little fuses wedged into the healing cracks of our broken hearts that can easily ignite and set off a major bomb if we are triggered.

That's why it's so important to take good care of ourselves and to be patient and kind and loving towards ourselves. It's important to be aware of what sets us off, and to try to get a little space to be able to respond rather than react. To be able to remind ourselves that people mean well, they just don't get it, and that we're okay. It's totally normal to be carrying around remnants of our past hurt. And it's normal that the hurt will bubble up from time to time. But if we can make conscious decisions in how we deal with it, if we can start to feel the physical sensation of our blood begin to boil and then tell ourselves a hundred times over that we will be parents one day, then maybe, just maybe we can avert a catastrophe. Maybe we can focus our energy elsewhere for a moment. Or maybe we just need to cry it out, and that's okay too. The intensity of feelings will pass and we will regain our strength, and we will forever be more empathic towards others, and perhaps that's a good thing.

Hoping everyone has a trigger-free weekend full of fun and peaceful things.

February 18, 2014

Every day I try to make sense out of the situation we're in. If I sit and think about how I have spent my entire thirties trying to make a baby, it just doesn't make sense to me. I'm turning 34 in April.

Though I feel stronger and better than I have in a long time, I do have moments where I think, how have we gone through all this loss and disappointment? How have we gone through multiple rounds of fertility treatments with nothing but 10 lbs and a dwindling savings account to show for it? How is it possible that my beautiful, generous sister donated her eggs to us and it didn't work? How are we still standing, and how does Noah still look so damn handsome?

We just have. It just is. We just are. (And he just is so damn handsome!) We woke up each day and put our pants on one leg at a time. We kissed good morning and good night and reminded each other to focus on this things we do have rather than the things we don't. And we sat with the hurt and the sad, and we gave our hearts time to heal. And we mustered up the courage to try again. And we sat and healed and got back up, again. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Because that's what you do when you want something so bad you'll do anything to get it.

When it's just Noah and me in the vortex we've created, everything feels fine. We aren't behind in terms of developmental milestones, we aren't crazy for trying all that science and technology has to offer, we aren't broken. We're just two people who love each other a lot and want a family. It gets harder when the outside world starts to seep in and we are reminded of how much of our lives have been consumed by this. How much of our time and energy and emotional, physical and financial resources have been spent on this. And it's hard. The world exists and we have to live in it. And this is the hand we've been dealt.

So instead of trying to make sense of a situation that makes no sense, I remind myself that no one said life was going to be fair. I accept that this journey makes no sense right now. Maybe it will one day, but until then it just doesn't. It's long and exhausting and ridiculous. But it's our journey. Each one of us on IF Island is navigating through some challenging terrain, but we will find the end of this excursion and the beginning of a new one. We will. We just have to keep on trekking.

Wishing everyone out there so much love and strength to keep moving forward. There will be setbacks, there will be losses, but somewhere out there is the family you've always dreamed of. Keep on fighting!

February 17, 2014

I just read This LA TIMES online article about how more than 1.5% of babies born in the U.S. in 2012 were conceived in a lab. The article states, "The 379 fertility clinics that are members of SART performed a total of 165,172 procedures in 2012, resulting in the births of 61,740 babies."

That's a lot of babies! And that is only what is being reported. That doesn't include all the people out there going through infertility who maybe get an IUI with their gyno or who decide on adoption or living child-free.

A few things stood out to me:

1) The number of procedures done is MUCH HIGHER than the number of live births (over 100,000 higher). What that says to me is heartbreak and disappointment 100,000 times over.

2) ART does work for many people, and it is not abnormal to use the science we have to make a baby.

3) WE ARE NOT ALONE!

There are so many people who are struggling to make a family. While that doesn't make it better for any of us, it is a reminder that there is nothing we did wrong. We are not being punished. We are not any less worthy of being parents. It is just harder for some than others. There are medical conditions that negatively impact fertility, especially diagnoses like mine of diminished ovarian reserve. And there is technology that can hopefully help. And if not, there are other ways to become parents.

We are all living out a slightly different version of the same story, and regardless of what works in the end, the emotional experience is very similar. We can relate to each other's sadness and frustration. We know the disappointment of a BFN or the moment Aunt Flow comes back to town, yet again. We know the very specific feeling of having to grieve the loss of something that could have been but never was. And we know how to pick ourselves off the floor, get grounded, and stand tall again, ready to face the next hurdle head on, with grace and dignity and determination. We know we need to appreciate all that we do have in our lives, and we know we can never NEVER feel ashamed to be hopeful.

So why does it feel so lonely on IF Island?

The last statistic I read was 7.3 million people in the U.S. end up on IF Island, yet a common theme is isolation. I feel it. I get it. I've done what I can to build a little community here and have a few new friends to talk to, but wanting something so badly and not being able to get it some how can make a person feel totally alone. Maybe it's the sense of longing that creates a distance between us and the world. Maybe it's feeling misunderstood. Maybe it's the gap that's created when someone says "just relax," or "stop trying so hard and it will happen," or "why don't you just adopt?" It may take all our efforts not to punch people in the face at these moments, but we need to find ways to just let those comments go and immediately find others who do understand us.

There are many places to find support and connection. One site I recently came across is Fertility Authority, which is a great hub of all things infertility. There's Stirrup-Queens, which has lots of good info, as well as a pretty comprehensive list of blogs broken down by category. And then there is the upcoming Fertility Planit conference in LA (at UCLA in April, use promo code FPVIP for 20% off admission) where leading experts in the field of fertility will be speaking, and tons of fertility related information will be presented. I'll be there on a panel with Baby Quest Foundation.

For many of us, the online community has been really helpful, and a really safe place to share feelings and learn. I wish there were more in person ways we can feel connected. One thing I've done that has helped is to do my best to connect to myself, my body, and my thoughts. Through yoga and through slowing down and really trying to understand my own fears and worries, I've gained insight into how I deal with disappointment. It's helping me learn better ways to sit with painful emotions so I can better handle the unfairness of life. I've also tried to work harder at connecting to those I love--my family, my sister, my husband. Strengthening the connections we do have can only help.

Hope everyone out there can find a way to stay connected and feel understood. And sending a reminder that we are definitely not alone!

A community of people who understand exactly what you're going through.

An incredible husband who will stand on the side lines as you try to make a baby.

More patience.

Hope.

Flexibility.

Determination.

The absolute core belief that you will be a parent.

What am I missing? This has been the recipe for my attempt to build a family so far. It hasn't quite yielded anything delicious. Yet. Maybe we just need to add the one last ingredient I've been shopping for: A generous couple willing to donate their left over embryos.

Once upon a time, my husband and I set out to make a family. I was young-ish and naive, and believed that two people who loved each other could have sex and make a baby. Five ART procedures and close to four years later I know better. Or I know that that plan doesn't work for everybody. That for many people (around 7.3 million women and their partners in the U.S. alone), the baby making process is a lot more complicated and seems like the farthest thing from "making love."

Making a baby, or trying to make a baby, has become stressful and painful for many of us. It's become confusing and frustrating, cold and clinical. It can feel depersonalized and manufactured. It involves way WAY too many people, and is totally and utterly emotionally exhausting.

I know a lot of people with romantic conception stories. (Why anyone shares these stories is beyond me, but they do). An accidental drunken night, in a tent under the stars, in a hotel in Costa Rica...it makes me laugh a little. Our conception story is going to be novel length and hopefully end with me flying to another state to have an anonymous frozen embryo jammed into my uterus. Hopefully Noah can be with me, but if he can't it actually is something I could do alone. Just like when my sister donated her eggs and Noah was collecting his "sample," I realized I could very well be sitting at home watching TV as my baby was possibly getting created.

It's kind of crazy and amazing to think about.

Today I want to get back to the root of all of this, because it truly is love. Underneath all the cold, clinical experiences we have to endure to try and build our family, there is so much love. The love we have for our child-to-be, the love we have for others going through this, the love our own families have for us as they experience the heartbreak and disappointments with us. The love we have for ourselves--because we should love and respect and cherish ourselves and our bodies, always. And of course the love we have for our partners.

Making a family starts and ends with love. Sometimes those of us on IF Island get a little lost during the journey--the difficult process it has become. But let's try to reconnect to that love today. Reminding ourselves of all we have to be thankful for, and all the love we have in our lives.

February 11, 2014

This morning Noah and I had our phone consultation with the RE about the donated embryo. I don't know why I felt so anxious about it. I don't know what I was expecting. We've had so many consultations about this stuff, one would think I'd be an old pro by now, but I'm always a little uneasy.

The doctor was great, and I feel good about the next step we're planning, but it made me think about how important it is to find the right doctor. It's not just about the doctor with the best success rate, or the one who has done the most transfers, it's about the right fit. It's about someone who can listen to you and see you as an individual, not a statistic. It's about being in an office that makes you feel cared for, and not like you're buying a used car. It's about feeling comfortable to challenge assumptions and advocate for yourself. For me, it also about a doctor who is patient enough to deal with all my questions about my "internet research" without getting frustrated when I quote "Dr. Google."

One of the hardest things is that many of the questions I have can't really be answered. Why do I have this condition of Diminished Ovarian Reserve when I'm not yet 34 years old? Could a different protocol have helped me? Will these embryos work? No one has an answer.

I remember going into the doc for one of our post IVF WTF meetings. I went in armed with a notebook full of questions and a box of tissues. Before I could even ask why our embryos fell apart or how could this end up differently in the future, the doc stopped me. He and said he knew I had lots of questions, but he may not have many answers. He tried his best. I tried my best. And then we moved on. Unanswered questions are frustrating, confusing, and unsettling, but part of the process I suppose.

I guess I wanted the doctor today to tell me things I knew she couldn't (and shouldn't). I wanted her to say these embryos would definitely work and that by this time next year I would have a baby. I wanted to have an overwhelming feeling that this was indeed the right choice for us. What I got instead was a few statistics, some explanation for her medication protocol, which is different than what I've done in the past, and a sense that she knows what she's doing and wants the best for us.

That's about all I can hope for. We will stay the course and ask as many questions as we need to. We will advocate for ourselves and make sure we are heard and understood. And we will recognize that a lot of what happens next is left up to chance or luck or the universe or the stars aligning. And we will hope we are on the winning side of the bet this time.

February 09, 2014

I've met a few people lately who have told me that they haven't told anyone, including their family, about their infertility struggles. Some of these people feel it's a private issue, others are afraid of what other people might think, some people are ashamed. I respect each individual couples' decision on what or how much they want to share. But it makes me feel so sad to think that on top of all the heartache on IF Island, many people feel like they have to hide their pain, which may lead to feeling more isolated. Or perhaps worse, that they feel there is shame in what they are going through.

I understand it. I do. Baby making blues are not the best dinner conversation topic. Since Noah and I have been SO open about our experience, it often invites all kinds of...weirdness. People not knowing what to say, people avoiding us, people giving unhelpful advice. Perhaps we are being judged about our choices--that part I'm not sure about, because I don't care. No one has the right to judge us and what we are going through, that's just my humble opinion. For the most part, people in our lives have been supportive, and we appreciate that.

My heart goes out to those who don't feel supported. I wish there was a way for me to erase some of the stigma that sometimes accompanies this awful predicament we are all in. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. We did nothing wrong. Male factor infertility does not make you less of a man. Female factor infertility does not make any of us less of a woman. It's terribly unfair that these feelings sometimes get wrapped into a medical diagnosis.

The definition of shame is: a painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior. We on IF Island have done nothing wrong. I have to repeat that. We've done nothing wrong or foolish. There have been times I've felt broken, and like this is all my fault because it's my body that isn't doing what it's supposed to. There have been times I've felt humiliated just for being hopeful and thinking something will work, and then it doesn't. There have been moments where I was embarrassed after our first IVF ended without even a transfer of embryos. I was embarrassed that I told people we were doing IVF and that I didn't even consider the cycle could essentially get cancelled. WHY WAS I EMBARRASSED AND HUMILIATED? I did NOTHING wrong! And yet I do remember these feelings.

We have to constantly remind ourselves that there is nothing shameful about struggling to make a baby. It's sad and it sucks and it's unfair and painful...and SO many other things, but it is not anything to be ashamed of. Surviving the day to day of this insanity, facing our fears, bouncing back after huge disappointment and loss, being determined and pushing forward instead of giving up, learning and loving and letting go--that is what happens on IF Island, and those are all things to be proud of.

In the spirit of breaking some of the silence and secrecy about infertility, I wanted to share that there is a special night of theater, a Dramedy if you will, called HUSH. It's playing for one night only in LA at the Hudson theater on February 25th. It's monologues and music and is supposed to be great. Even better, it's a benefit for Baby Quest Foundation.

Let's start erasing the stigma. Let's break some of the silence about infertility. Let's be proud of what we've endured and how we are willing to keep fighting to create our families.

February 06, 2014

I came across this article about IVF and separation rates through infertility blogger Amy Klein on Twitter, and all I can say is, "NOOOOOO!!!!"

The first line of the article is, "Danish researchers found couples who have a rocky patch because of failed IVF treatment are three times more likely to end up separating than those who do become parents."

So in a nut shell, you struggle with infertility, you don't get the outcome you want, and then you get separated? Like I said, "NOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

Assisted Reproductive Technologies are stressful. Many of us have read that research shows stress levels of women going through infertility are equivalent to that of women with a terminal illness. There are mental and emotional stressors. There is the physical stress on our bodies and the logistical stress (for lack of a better word) of going through the process of an IVF cycle, with all the appointments and scheduled shots. We all know infertility treatments can essentially become a second job, so if you already have a job, then an unwelcomed second one can significantly add to the stress factor. There is stress in making decisions. There is stress on not making decisions. There is stress in the waiting process. There is stress going through the grief and loss, of a BFN or a miscarriage. There is loss and compromise around letting go of specific hopes and dreams for a biological child or the ability to carry. And of course there is the extreme financial stress. Add social isolation and a ton of hormones injected straight to the gut and you've got a hot mess waiting to happen.

It's very normal that these conditions may cause some wear and tear on a relationship, but it's also possible for the challenges to draw a couple closer.

No relationship is perfect. Noah and I have had our share of disagreements. Sometimes I feel like the distribution of "work" is uneven. Sometimes we don't feel the same way about what the next best move is. Sometimes I'm emotional and obsessive and he's not, which makes both of us annoyed for different reasons. Sometimes he gets to have a beer and a big bowl of ice cream while I'm eating my third yam of the day and drinking some dirt tea my acupuncturist concocted. Sometimes I feel guilty that it's my ovarian dysfucntion that has led to this exile on IF Island. There are so many feelings and anxieties that float around like little rain clouds, ready to dump water on both of us all the time.

But one thing I can say is that somehow, Noah and I are closer than ever. We remind ourselves and each other that we are on the same team, always, and that it is nobody's fault that we are in this situation. It's just something that happened to us, so we're dealing with it. My responsibility to myself and our marriage is to learn ways to cope with the stress. To find activities, like yoga or a walking on the beach, that help ground me and help me find some peace and calm. His responsibility is to be supportive, always. To not eat things I can't eat in front of me, and to encourage and praise my discipline when I have some. His job is to recognize that my body takes most of the hit, and he appreciates that and is patient with mood swings or irrational behaviors. And both of us try our best to communicate without judgment. Feeling are always valid, even if they're not logical. We know that now. So we respect the feelings, and try to sort through the crazy and the sad and the hurt and the fear, and we talk about it. We also remember that we express our feelings in very different ways, and that's ok too.

And we both constantly remind each other it won't be like this forever. It won't. We will get through this. So we try to live our lives the best we can, designate times to NOT talk about IT, and distract ourselves with whatever we can. It takes work and effort. It's not easy when we aren't on the same page or when we feel disconnected. Finding ways to connect and to laugh and to feel love and gratitude for each other is key.

Hoping everyone out there finds ways to share love and be loved. IF Island is a rough place to live, we need each other and our partners more than ever!

February 04, 2014

I've been talking to different couples on IF Island about how they knew when it was time to move away from whatever procedure wasn't working to something else, like donor eggs or adoption. ART is such a tricky thing because we all know that the NEXT round of IVF may be THE ONE that works! We all know it often takes several tries at the same thing before that miracle happens. But we also know the toll it all takes on the body, mind, spirit, emotions, and relationships. And we know the cost. We know it's hard to make a decision about possibly making a baby based on money, because who can put a price on a baby?

Some people have the means and the stamina to keep at it until it works. I know several couples who adopted that attitude and just kept going with the same doctor, slightly different protocols, and the same 5% chance of success each time, and eventually they got their family. I know other couples who also had the means, but after multiple rounds of IVF, 6 miscarriages and having a surrogate miscarry their embryo, they knew that a donor egg and surrogate was what was called for. I know another couple who miscarried with donor eggs several times, and that's when she knew she needed to adopt. Her body was done and adoption seemed like the fastest way off the Island. She proceeded with adoption and now her baby is due in less than two weeks. I know other people who are bound by the realities of their financial situation. They can spend 30k but not 40k. That's the bottom line. Everyone reaches their limit, and it's up to each individual or couple to sit with all the factors involved and decide what that limit is.

But how do you really know when it's time to move to donor eggs, or a surrogate, or adoption? How do you make such difficult decisions when the carrot of success dangles right in front of you? How do you know when you should push forward and when you should take a break?

There is no easy answer. It's a very personal issue.

For us, after our embryos fell apart I was suspicious about my eggs, but it was only our first attempt. Then we did two IUI's because it was covered by my new insurance. Noah and I decided we would do 4-5 IUI's because that was what insurance allowed for. But on my second IUI, I produced 6 follicles of size, which was the most I'd ever gotten. Nothing took. My body was wrecked, my emotions were wrecked, and Noah was leaving town for work so he wouldn't be there to give me shots for the next round. The combination of bad timing, feeling awful, and seeing no result with those 6 follicles made me feel ready to move on. Though I wondered if I was on too much medication, I knew that our chances would always be slim. I wondered if we just did a few more IUI's, maybe one would have worked. Maybe. But I just felt ready to put an end to the IUI chapter and move to my sister as a donor. She had a small window of time to donate and I needed to get the meds out of my body, and that was the next game plan. When that didn't work, I wanted to move on. I really REALLY did. But I couldn't. We were exhausted and heartbroken and broke. Pushing forward at this juncture would have been desperately grasping at straws, and we knew that. It took a few months to heal and now we're ready again to move on.

The process is really painful on so many levels. Sometimes we have to set some parameters and just stick with it. We have to consider what we have left physically, emotionally, relationally, financially. We have to know what our priorities are and what we are willing to sacrifice. We have to feel like we did everything we could with what we had. We have to consider logistics, like timing and other life events. We have to take care of ourselves and our significant others. We have to weigh our current quality of life against the next procedure. We have to get our bodies, our hearts, and our brains on the same page and we need to be able to recognize and honor when they aren't. We have to make decisions from a place of calm, rather than a place of panic and fear. We have to try to stick with a plan, rather than let the what-ifs drive us bananas. We have to listen to our guts as best we can. We have to remember that will be parents.

Noah and I have our next plan. It's a compromise, but one that we've been able to sit with for a few months now so that we can really come to terms with it. Our decision to pursue embryo adoption was made by wanting the best chance at making a baby, wanting to give me a chance at carrying that baby, and our finances. I couldn't jump right into it, because I needed that time to heal. I needed to really wrap my head around what it all meant. I needed some time to not be on medication. And I needed some time to try naturally with more herbs and acupuncture before feeling totally and completely ready.

It isn't always easy to know what you need. It isn't easy to make sense out of nonsense and chaos. It isn't always easy to trust your gut anymore once you've been living on IF Island for a while. It can be confusing and frustrating. All I can say is trying to create a plan, knowing your own personal limits, and getting in touch with your instinct--that little tiny voice that says, "yes, I can do this," or "hell, no!"-- is all we can really do.

I wish all of you out there so much strength and love when trying to figure out how to move on.

February 03, 2014

Soooo...I guess I'm obligated to start with a nod to the Seahawks who didn't just win the Superbowl yesterday, they CRUSHED! Noah was happy. He needed that. We needed a win.

While we were in bed, watching highlights and commentary, I started falling asleep to the sound of conversations about different teams having a great season and learning how to play as a team, and I thought while all that matters, in the end you either win the Superbowl or you don't.

Some things in life are about the journey. They are about life lessons and experiences along the way. While I believe that our journey on IF Island has taught us many things and made us better people, it is now really about the end result. It's about finding a way to have a family.

Noah and I are gearing up for embryo donation. That is our next play to try and win this battle. A lot of...stuff had to go down in my life for the best choice in making a baby to be having some couple's left over embryo implanted into my uterus. A LOT of....stuff. That...stuff is the journey. That...stuff is what has made us stronger and more patient and more appreciative. But right now we need to put that....stuff aside and focus on our goal. A baby.

Watching the Seahawks fight their way into the end zone time and time again was uplifting for me. It reminded me of how Noah and I keep trying to score a touchdown, but somehow end up pummeled on the sideline instead. Being able to survive on IF Island is like football in several ways. It requires the ability to keep the goal line in sight, and take various paths to try and get there. It takes trying multiple times and various plays to get into the end zone when there are obstacles, or giant men nicknamed Porkchop, standing in your way. It necessitates being able to go down one path, get knocked down, then pick yourself back up to try again. It about being creative. It calls for compromising with kicking a field goal when a touchdown just doesn't seem possible. It demands the ability to think on your feet and revise the plan depending on the roadblocks in front of you. Sometimes it's about passing the ball to someone else, in hopes that they can help you reach the goal. And above all, it's about never giving up.

Noah and I know we want a family, and we've decided living child-free is not an option for us. That may change somewhere down the line, and I have a lot of respect for people who make this difficult decision. I don't see that as giving up. I see that as taking care of yourself and your relationship and knowing when enough is enough. It is redefining your goals once again.

Since Noah and I aren't there yet, we will keep on fighting. At every juncture we have crossed thus far, we have been knocked down. We have had to redefine the goal posts and we've had to find a way to mourn our losses, accept our limitations, and move forward with what we've got.

What we still have is a determination to make a baby. We NEVER thought we'd be in the situation we are in. But here we are. Keeping our eye on the prize.